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THRENODIES 


THRENODIES 


BY 


JOHN    MYERS    O'HARA 


SMITH    &    SALE 

PORTLAND    MAINE 

MDCCCCXVIII 


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.Kt^JL*.^^ 


COPYRIGHT   19 18 

BY 

SMITH    &  SALE 


TO  THE  MEMORY 
OF  MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 


547S2S 


Of  this  edition  two  hundred  copies 
have  been  printed. 


No/  0/ 


CONTENTS 


THE    STREET    OF    DREAMS 

3 

IN    PATRIS    MEI    MEMORIAM 

5 

THE    CANDLES 

7 

AVRIL    FUNEBRE        . 

8 

AD    MATREM    AMANTISSIMAM 

9 

THE    PRIMROSE 

lO 

EVOCATION 

II 

THE    GOAL    OF    THE    SHADOW 

12 

THE    DREAM    . 

13 

ELEGY     .... 

IS 

AUTUMNAL   GRIEF    . 

16 

TWILIGHT    AT    WOODLAWN 

17 

DOMIDUCA        . 

.     18 

AT    EASTER       . 

19 

TENEBRA    CRUCIS      . 

20 

THE    ROAD    TO    ACADEME 

21 

THE    TRINAL    GLORY 

22 

PARENTALIA 

23 

ELEUSIS 

24 

CONTENTS 


AN  URN  FROM  HADRA 

LETHE  . 

ANASYRTOLIS 

SPRING    IN    LESBOS 

THE    ANSWER 

ET    EGO    IN    ARCADIA 
THE    TRYST      . 
ATROPOS 

FOR    A    poet's    tomb 

SISTE    VIATOR 

VALE 

THE    DYING   PAGAN 

PRAYER 


25 
27 
28 
29 
30 
31 
32 

2>Z 
34 
35 
36 
37 
41 


THRENODIES 


THE  STREET  OF  DREAMS 

ALONG  the  street  of  dreams, 
Deserted  now  and  ever  overcast, 
With  no  familiar  gleams 

Of  golden  lamps  that  lit  it  in  the  past, 
I  glance  with  tears  and  linger  to  the  last. 

Along  the  street  of  dreams, 

I  listen  for  a  footstep  in  the  night ; 

Afar,  at  first,  it  seems, 

Elusive  as  an  echo  in  its  flight. 

Then  near,  and  nearer,  at  the  threshold  quite. 

Along  the  street  of  dreams, 

O  sadness  of  the  unreturning  sound, 

When,  from  the  heart's  extremes, 

Forsaken  in  the  shadows  that  surround, 
We  lose  it  in  a  silence  more  profound. 


IN  PATRIS  MEI  MEMORIAM 


IN  the  lone  hour  of  winter  and  the  wind 
His  warrior  soul  went  forth ;  the  fateful  night 
Lifting  in  awful  vastness  to  affright, 

And  heaven's  remotest  star  the  journey's  end ; 

But  the  illimitable  way  could  send 

No  terror  to  his  soul ;  the  ultimate  light 
Flickered  afar,  and  on  the  eternal  height 

A  waiting  seraph  bade  him  to  ascend. 

And  if  the  tragic  bourne  of  life  shall  be 
The  final  road  to  rest's  eternity, 
Then  all  is  well  with  him ;  and  if  there  are 

Embattled  ways  that  go  from  star  to  star, 

His  soul  shall  still  achieve ;  eternal  sleep, 
Eternal  life,  either  is  his  to  keep. 


IN  PATRIS  MEI  MEMORIAM 


II 


The  funeral  marches  for  the  mighty  dead, 
In  slow  procession,  dole  that  answers  dole, 
Through  the  unlifting  shadow  on  my  soul, 

Pass  with  far  echo  to  a  martial  tread ; 

The  ashen  twilight  deepens  overhead 
As  one  accordant  bell  begins  to  toll, 
And  in  the  after-silence  to  console, 

Voices  accost  me  from  the  vast  and  dread. 

And  as  the  shining  gates  of  dream  divide, 
The  seraphs  stand  expectant  on  the  steep, 
And  softer  than  a  music  heard  in  sleep 

The  mournful  bugle  sweeps  the  shadow  wide ; 

A  road  of  radiance  slants  across  the  deep, 
And  he  descends  it  slowly  to  ray  side. 


IN  PATRIS  MEI  MEMORIAM 
III 

By  the  fond  name  that  was  his  own  and  mine, 
The  last  upon  his  lips  that  strove  with  doom, 
He  called  me  and  I  saw  the  light  assume 

A  sudden  glory  and  around  him  shine ; 

And  nearer  now  I  saw  the  laureled  line 
Of  the  august  of  Song  before  me  loom, 
And  knew  the  voices,  erstwhile  through  the  gloom, 

That  whispered  and  forbade  me  to  repine. 

And  with  farewell,  a  shaft  of  splendor  sank 
Out  of  the  stars  and  faded  as  a  flame, 
And  down  the  night,  on  clouds  of  glory,  came 

The  battle  seraphs  halting  rank  on  rank ; 

And  lifted  heavenward  to  heroic  peace. 

He  passed  and  left  me  hope  beyond  surcease. 


THE  CANDLES 

THE  candles  of  death 
Burn  at  her  head, 
Burn  for  the  soul  that  has  fled ; 

i 
In  deep  of  the  night,  , 

Flicker  and  trace 

Phantom  smiles  on  her  face. 

The  candles  of  death 
Burn  in  their  frame. 
Burn  with  funereal  flame  ; 

In  deep  of  the  night, 

Flicker  and  keep 

Ritual  watch  o'er  her  sleep. 


AVRIL  FUNfiBRE 

APRIL,  bereft  of  her, 
One  with  the  vanished  Mays  that  knew  her  not, 
The  countless  Junes  that  still  in  joy  shall  come ; 

How  can  you  fling 

So  heartlessly  your  blossoms  to  the  wind, 

And  laugh  from  frantic  throats  of  all  your  birds  ? 

April,  your  ecstasy 

Runs  bridal  in  its  rapture  o'er  the  earth, 

And  pours  in  other  hearts  a  chaliced  bliss ; 

But  brings  to  me, 

A  discord  in  the  unremitting  song. 

The  haunting  shadow  of  autumnal  death. 


AD  MATREM  AMANTISSIMAM  ET  CARISSI- 
MAM  FILII  IN  STERNUM  FIDELITAS 

WITH  all  the  fairest  angels  nearest  God, 
The  ineffable  true  of  heart  around  the  throne, 

There  shall  I  find  you  waiting  when  the  flown 
Dream  leaves  my  heart  insentient  as  the  clod ; 
And  when  the  grief-retracing  ways  I  trod 

Become  a  shining  path  to  thee  alone, 

My  weary  feet,  that  seemed  to  drag  as  stone, 
Shall  once  again,  with  wings  of  fleetness  shod, 
Fare  on,  beloved,  to  find  you  !     Just  beyond 

The  seraph  throng  await  me,  standing  near 

The  gentler  angels,  eager  and  apart; 
Be  there,  near  God's  own  fairest,  with  the  fond 
Sweet  smile  that  was  your  own,  and  let  me  hear 

Your  voice  again  and  clasp  you  to  my  heart. 


THE  PRIMROSE 

THE  primrose  that  she  loved  —  I  see  it  bloom, 
As  on  a  shrine,  beside  the  vesper  sill ; 
And  her  sweet  spirit  in  the  silent  room, 
So  sentient  of  her  now,  is  with  me  still. 

The  primrose  that  she  loved  —  a  gentle  flame, 
Like  her  fair  soul,  the  fairest  of  the  flowers ; 

It  shares  the  sigh  that  breathes  my  mother's  name. 
Love's  prayer  and  incense  in  the  shadowed  hours. 


10 


EVOCATION 

THE  evening  lamp, 
The  shades  pulled  low,  the  world 
Shut  out  with  night ; 

The  reading  time, 

The  cherished  books,  the  one 

Loved  presence  near ; 

Benefic  hour. 

So  like  her  soul,  of  joy 

Serene  and  deep. 

I  dreamed  no  day 

Could  ever  come,  O  death, 

When  she  could  go. 

How  clearly  now 

I  bring  her  back,  the  light 

Upon  her  face ; 

And  see  her  sit, 

A  gentle  ghost,  beside 

The  unlit  lamp. 


11 


THE  GOAL  OF  THE  SHADOW 

TURN  to  the  shadow,  my  soul ! 
Turn  for  the  solace  thou  cravest, 
Rest  for  the  weakest  and  bravest, 
Balm  for  the  whole 
Of  the  heart  at  the  goal 
Of  the  shadow,  my  soul ! 

Turn  to  the  shadow,  my  soul ! 
Nothing  is  there  to  affright  thee. 
Voices  of  fear  that  benight  thee 

Die  like  a  toll 

Far  away  at  the  goal 
Of  the  shadow,  my  soul ! 

Turn  to  the  shadow,  my  soul ! 

Pass  through  the  Night  unappalling, 
Fathom  the  Great  Silence  falling, 

Slip  from  thy  dole 

And  sink  down  at  the  goal 
Of  the  shadow,  my  soul  I 


12 


THE  DREAM 
''Is  the  tide  in  1 I  had  a  dreamt 


I  HAD  a  dream, 
A  dream  of  fair  expanses, 
A  dream  of  golden  light,  a  dream  of  day  ; 

I  caught  a  gleam  — 

The  vision  that  entrances 

The  e3'es  of  our  beloved  who  are  away ; 

I  had  a  dream, 

A  dream  of  things  hereafter, 

A  dream  of  olden  joy  in  other  lands ; 

It  was  supreme, 

Alone  of  love  and  laughter. 

Of  smiles  and  happy  tears  and  meeting  hands ; 

I  had  a  dream, 

A  dream  beside  a  river, 

A  river  that  was  flowing  to  the  sea  ; 

And  it  would  seem 

A  summons  to  deliver 

My  spirit  to  the  tide  that  rose  for  me  : 

I  had  a  dream, 

A  dream  of  voices  calling, 

And  one  sweet  voice  so  clear  above  them  all ; 


13 


And  down  the  stream 

A  phantom  dusk  was  falling, 

And  I  was  drifting  seaward  to  the  call ; 

I  had  a  dream, 

A  dream  of  waves  abating, 

Of  rifts  of  silver  breaking  on  a  shore  ; 

On  death's  extreme, 

Where  with  the  dawn  was  waiting 

The  one  beloved  that  I  shall  see  no  more. 


14 


ELEGY 

AS  the  tired  day 
Stoops  at  the  western  gate 
Her  sandals  to  undo, 
And  in  the  amber  blue 
Of  vesper  skies 
The  one  fair  star  is  late, 
My  eyes 
Take  tears  from  my  sad  heart ; 

And  thoughts  as  gray 

Gather  a  deeper  night 

Than  now  descends  on  me, 

Wherein  I  cannot  see 

In  any  niche 

A  lamp's  unfailing  light. 

From  which 

Old  loves,  consoled,  depart ; 

But  vain  to  say. 

Beloved,  the  void  is  dumb, 

And  all  the  stars  a  snare 

To  widen  its  despair, 

For  love  must  sigh 

A  prayer  when  death  shall  come, 

And  I 

Would  be  whate'er  thou  art ! 


15 


AUTUMNAL  GRIEF 

LEAVES  on  the  ground, 
Dead  as  hope  in  my  heart ; 
Only  a  withered  sound 
The  wild  gusts  start. 

Bare  branches,  too, 

Lift  like  my  soul  a  lyre, 

Where  winds  of  song  rush  through 

With  wasted  fire. 

And  the  harsh  sky. 

Callous  to  my  despair. 

From  one  who  may  not  die 

Repels  the  prayer.  I 


16 


TWILIGHT  AT  WOODLAWN 

THE  vesper  through  the  silent  vista  steals  — 
Beside  a  cross  a  marble  angel  kneels ; 

And  in  the  loveliest  city  of  the  dead, 
A  carpet  of  autumnal  leaves  is  spread; 

But  not  as  velvet  for  a  royal  room  — 
I  tread  its  ashen  echo  to  a  tomb. 

The  gray  forgetting  of  the  lonely  years 
Forbids  my  arid  eyes  the  olden  tears ; 

And  age,  that  leaves  me  dreaming  where  I  stand, 
Has  dried  my  sorrow  like  the  desert  sand. 


17 


DOMIDUCA 

ODOMIDUCA,  dearest  deity ! 
Joy  of  the  home-returning,  all  my  heart 
Ascends  in  prayer,  mingled  with  tears,  to  thee ! 

O  Goddess  of  the  hearth,  who  ne'er  would  part, 
But  bring  the  absent  dear  one  evermore 
Home  to  the  watcher  waiting  at  the  door. 

O  Domiduca,  tenderer  than  all, 

When  life  is  ended,  take  me  by  the  hand 

And  guide  me  where  the  darker  shadows  fall ! 
Ah,  show  the  immortal  threshold  where  they  stand 

Eager  to  greet  me,  even  as  of  old, 

With  the  fond  smile  my  eyes  no  more  behold. 


18 


AT  EASTER 

FLOWERS  of  Christ, 
Pallid  flowers, 
Flowers  of  the  Resurrection, 
Languorous  Easter  lilies 
Filling  the  chancel. 
How  my  heart  drinks  deep, 
Deep  of  your  perfume. 

But  I  see 

Other  flowers, 

Flowers  from  the  slopes  of  Eryx, 

Regal  indolent  roses 

Piled  on  an  altar, 

Up  to  the  marble 

Knees  of  a  Goddess. 


19 


TENEBRA  CRUCIS 

O  CREED  of  love  and  laughter,  creed  of  youth, 
Here,  at  the  crest  of  years, 
I  know  you  keep  for  life  a  deeper  truth 
Than  abnegation's  tears. 

But  no  idyllic  verity  can  make 

Death  spare  nor  age  delay. 
And  Time,  that  leaves  them  unperturbed,  must  take 

The  happy  Gods  away. 

And  I  must  see,  when  memory  would  call 

Old  faith  to  ease  my  loss,  w 

Upon  the  bright  Hellenic  sunshine  fall  9 

The  shadow  of  the  Cross. 


20 


I 
I 


THE  ROAD  TO  ACADEME 

ONE  golden  hour  of  immemorial  dream  — 
Alone  I  walked  the  road  to  Academe, 
And  saw  the  river  grow  a  thread  of  gray 
Among  the  olives,  while  the  orb  of  day 
Flushed  Lycabettos  with  a  final  beam. 

I  paused  where  Plato,  at  the  grove's  extreme, 
Seemed  pensively  to  watch  the  rosy  gleam 
Relinquish  all  the  summits  nor  delay 
One  golden  hour ! 

Sleep  brought  oblivion  of  the  sordid  scheme, 
And  made  me  royal  in  my  soul's  esteem  ;  — 
The  great  Greek  bade  his  new  disciple  stay, 
And  leisurely  we  took  the  homeward  way ; 
I  was  companion  of  the  mind  supreme 
One  golden  hour! 


21 


THE  TRINAL  GLORY 

THE  trinal  glory  !  beauty,  love,  and  death  ! 
These  are  the  three,  and  worthy  of  the  breath, 
The  singing  breath  that  soars  to  find  the  stars  ; 

These  are  the  end,  of  all  that  makes  or  mars ; 
No  other  choric  altars  build  for  me, 
O  life,  but  these,  the  perfect  trinity ! 

Death,  love,  and  beauty  !  brighter  than  the  sun 
That  on  her  blazing  lyre  of  temples  shone 
When  Greece  with  marble  paean  smote  the  light ; 

And  stormed  the  world  with  her  harmonic  might 
Of  golden  singers,  singing  to  despair 
Their  love  of  beauty,  making  death  so  fair. 


22 


PARENTALIA 

WITH  fruit  and  garland  for  the  rustic  shrine 
Came  Roman  youth  and  maid. 
And  poured  a  fond  libation  with  the  wine 
For  each  ancestral  shade. 

They  came  in  their  confiding  faith  to  make 

The  old  parental  rite, 
And  dreamed  the  manes  took  the  wheaten  cake 

Upon  the  altar  white. 

And  so  with  kindred  reverence  I  keep 

The  night  that  souls  return, 
But  at  my  vigil  window  where  I  weep 

The  Christian  candles  burn. 


23 


ELEUSIS 
(to  j.  l.  h.) 

I  PASSED  in  dream  the  ruined  Dipylon 
While  yet  the  rosy  tremor  of  the  dawn, 
Reaching  above  the  summits  to  the  skies, 
Scarce  limned  the  distance  where  Eleusis  lies. 

Along  the  Sacred  Way,  a  soul  apart, 

I  walked  with  holy  ardor  in  my  heart, 

Serenely  as  the  myriads  that  strode, 

In  ages  gone,  the  tomb-companioned  road ; 

A  pilgrim  to  the  Greater  Mystery, 
I  had  no  hint  of  what  it  held  for  me. 
But  hopeful  of  the  ritual  to  come, 
I  journeyed  toward  the  Telesterium. 


No  lips  reveal  the  secret  of  those  rites, 
O  Friend,  Friend  of  my  heart,  but  when  the  nights 
Are  void  of  any  hope,  and  as  I  gaze, 
Conjecture  sinks  to  ashes  with  the  blaze. 

Your  words  recur,  and  like  the  Grecian  wise. 
You  make  me  see  the  journey  with  your  eyes. 
From  the  crowned  city,  where  had  dwelt  the  soul, 
To  dissolution's  Eleusinian  goal ; 

You  give  me  Nature's  mood  to  go  with  peace 
Along  the  Via  Sacra  of  surcease. 
Although  no  answer  to  my  question  may 
Come  back  to  be  a  torch  upon  the  way. 


24 


AN  URN  FROM  HADRA 

PENSIVE  I  left  the  old  sarcophagi, 
The  stelae  carved  for  unimagined  fame, 
And  heard  a  ghostly  whisper  and  a  sigh 
As  toward  the  room  of  yellow  urns  I  came. 

And  one  of  many  lifted  from  the  sands, 

In  Alexandria's  necropolis, 
Depressed  me  with  the  dream  of  ashen  hands 

That  reached  to  clasp  it  from  a  dread  abyss. 

My  glance  upon  the  Grecian  letters  fell, 

A  faded  semi-circle  on  the  gold ; 
They  seemed  to  blur  anew  with  some  farewell 

Of  phantom  grief  by  cycles  unconsoled. 

A  vision  rose  like  vapor  from  the  urn  — 

The  homing  hoopoes  crossed  the  waning  light ; 

I  saw  the  glow  on  Ptolemy's  palace  burn, 
The  wave  of  Mareolis  meet  the  night ; 

And  writhing  seaward  in  the  windy  gust, 
The  flame  of  Pharos  floated  to  the  skies; 

Beyond  Rhacotis  whirled  the  desert's  dust, 
O'er  Hadra's  tom.bs  the  moon  began  to  rise; 

And  by  a  cypress-circled  stele  knelt 

A  girl  with  hidden  face  and  golden  hair; 

I  read  the  carven  epitaph  and  felt 

The  sudden  tremor  of  a  strange  despair. 


25 


Passer,  my  dust  reposes  at  thy  feet ! 

When  youth  was  mine  and  beauty  hers,  alas, 
Death  spared  me  not  for  love  !  O  pause  and  greet 

Karysta,  in  the  city,  should  she  pass  ; 

And  tell  her  that  Diyllus  waits  her  still 
In  dewy  fields  beyond  the  sombre  stream ; 

Ah,  thou  shall  know  her  by  the  tears  that  fill 
Her  eyes  and  veil  the  azure  of  their  beam  / 


26 


LETHE 

SO  noiselessly  it  flowed  he  scarcely  knew 
If  such  could  be,  a  little  space  away, 
Shadow  or  river  stealing  dimly  through 
The  ashen  day. 

He  stood  a  brooding  while  beside  the  brink, 

Then  made  a  cup,  with  palms  that  curved  as  one, 
To  hold  the  water  while  his  heart  should  drink 
Oblivion. 

But  from  the  wave  he  saw  her  eyes  of  dream, 

Sad  as  the  past's  remorseless  mirror  framed, 
Look  upward  into  his,  and  from  the  stream 
He  slunk  ashamed. 


27 


ANASYRTOLIS 

SWEET  shade  of  Anasyrtolis, 
O  thou,  with  life  untimely  done, 
That  flittest  on  the  fields  of  Dis ; 

No  lips  have  thy  sad  lips  to  kiss, 

So  oft  from  Lykas  turned  in  fun, 
Sweet  shade  of  Anasyrtolis. 

He  makes  the  beechen  shadow  his, 

Since  thou  no  more  with  song  art  one, 
That  flittest  on  the  fields  of  Dis. 

His  flocks  untended  stray  amiss, 

His  steps  the  myrtle  covert  shun, 
Sweet  shade  of  Anasyrtolis. 

Art  thou  forgotten  all  to  bliss. 

With  soft  and  shy  caress  for  none, 
That  flittest  on  the  fields  of  Dis  ? 

Hast  thou  no  memory  of  this 

Fair  land  beneath  the  mortal  sun. 
Sweet  shade  of  Anasyrtolis 
That  flittest  on  the  fields  of  Dis  ? 


28 


SPRING  IN  LESBOS 

O  PHILOMEL,  messenger  of  the  Spring, 
What  olden  strain  of  grief  is  thine  to  sing  ? 
The  light  wind  lifts  the  apple  boughs  in  bloom 
And  the  white  petals  drift  across  a  tomb, 
And  Sappho's  name  seems  hidden  where  they  heap 
A  snow  of  fragrance  on  eternal  sleep. 

The  dim  sea  turns  to  amethyst  above 

No  weary  galley  from  a  land  of  love, 

But  the  long  olive  slopes  are  still  the  same 

As  when  the  girls  from  Cos  and  Sardis  came, 

A  nubile  throng  that  quivered  to  the  note, 

O  Philomel,  from  thy  ecstatic  throat. 

O  Philomel,  messenger  of  the  Spring, 
What  olden  pang  of  heart  is  thine  to  sing  ? 
The  little  theatre  of  long  ago. 
With  named  and  carven  seats,  was  just  below, 
The  temple  where  her  lovers  listened  long 
To  the  wild  passion  of  her  pristine  song. 

The  marble  fragments  gleaming  at  my  feet 
Restore  themselves  in  dream  as  Sappho's  seat, 
The  last  rays  wreathe  it  with  a  rosy  fire 
And  take  the  shape  symmetric  of  her  lyre, 
And  thy  despair  where  wind  and  bough  rejoice, 
O  Philomel,  is  her  enraptured  voice. 


29 


THE  ANSWER 

AND  the  high  Gods  made  answer  to  my  prayer ! 
Oracular  they  came,  and  bade  me  dare 
A  vatic  height,  serene  and  doubting  not; 
And  thrice  I  did  accost  them,  asking  what, 
Ye  throned  Olympians,  is  life?     And  love? 
And  what  is  death,  the  mystery-  above 
All  thought  of  things  divine  ?     And  then  I  heard 
Their  voices  roll  the  heaven-shaking  word ; 
And  life  and  love  they  answered  me,  but  death 
Caught  as  a  vital  anguish  at  their  breath ; 
Helpless  they  seemed,  speech-stricken,  and  I  saw, 
With  foreheads  bending  to  eternal  law, 
Great  shadows  half  enfold  them,  half  reveal 
Divinity  discrowned,  and  chariots  wheel 
Skyward  with  shattered  thunder  —  they  were  gone, 
Lost  in  the  storm-cloud  !  radiant  broke  the  dawn  ! 
But  the  high  Gods  returned  not !   Even  so, 
They,  too,  methought,  must  die  before  they  know ! 


30 


ET  EGO  IN  ARCADIA 

HE  stooped  and  read, 
Upon  the  tomb, 
No  words  the  dead 
Addressed  to  doom  ; 

With  careless  laugh. 
He  slowly  traced 

The  epitaph 

By  time  defaced ; 

A  shepherd  lad, 
He  found  no  gray 

Appeal  that  bade 
The  passer  stay ; 

No  long  regret 

For  mortal  bliss, 
Lamented  yet, 

But  only  this; 

A  line  he  knelt 

To  clearer  see  ; 
"  I,  too,  have  dwelt 

In  Arcady." 


31 


A 


THE  TRYST 

S  one  to  arms  of  love, 

With  bridal  stars  above, 
He  went  to  death  ; 


And  sped  elate  of  soul, 
As  runner  to  the  goal 

With  rhythmic  breath ; 

So  light  of  heart  he  flew, 
The  Greek  but  dimly  knew 
The  mortal  fear ; 

He  went  to  death  as  might 

A  victor  through  the  night, 

The  triumph  near. 


32 


ATROPOS 

ATROPOS,  dread 
One  of  the  Three, 
Holding  the  thread 
Woven  for  me ; 

Grimly  thy  shears, 
Steely  and  bright. 

Menace  the  years 
Left  for  delight. 

Grant  it  may  chance, 
Just  as  they  close, 

June  shall  entrance 
Earth  with  the  rose  ; 

Reigning  as  though, 
Bliss  to  the  breath, 

Endless  and  no 
Whisper  of  death. 


33 


FOR  A  POET'S  TOMB 

HE  carved  a  weeping  nymph  with  bended  head, 
Her  shoulder  hidden  by  the  flowing  hair, 
To  lean  against  the  portal  of  the  dead 
And  sorrow  there ; 

He  made  the  marble  take  a  rhythmic  grace, 

For  beauty  more  than  song  he  deemed  divine, 
And  in  a  blithe  procession  at  the  base 
He  linked  the  Nine. 


34 


SISTE  VIATOR 

STAY,  traveller !  't  is  my  tomb !  no  more  the  day 
Shall  shine  for  me  along  the  Appian  Way ! 
And  yet,  though  dust,  I  speak ;  and  lest  my  urn 
You  pass  unheeding,  never  to  return, 
I  bid  you  pause  and  read  beneath  the  vine, 
That  wreathes  the  tomb  as  once  the  brow  of  mine, 
A  name  the  Muses  loved ;  for  I  have  seen 
High  Helicon,  and  Delos,  and  the  green 
Of  Mitylenean  hills,  and  humbly  trod 
Where  Pindar  took  his  supper  with  the  God; 
TibuUus  was  my  friend,  and  Ovid  knew 
The  unlamenting  voice  that  speaks  to  you; 
A  poet  I,  as  they ;  now  ashes  here, 
I  crave  the  passing  tribute  of  a  tear! 


35 


VALE 

BRIGHT  pageant  of  the  world  that  I  must  leave, 
Splendor  of  regal  nights  and  epic  days, 
Enchant  me  still  lest  I  should  stoop  to  grieve. 
While  greener  in  death's  shadow  grow  the  bays. 

I  sought  for  beauty  and  I  worshipped  it 
In  marble  temples  with  the  pride  of  song ; 

The  spacious  vista  of  my  dreams  was  lit 
With  all  the  moods  that  unto  art  belong. 

And  I  shall  pass  as  the  great  Pagans  passed, 
The  wearers  of  the  purple  in  their  might; 

The  loss  of  earth  may  daunt  me  at  the  last. 
But  not  the  terror  of  eternal  night. 


36 


THE  DYING  PAGAN 
OavaTO<:  TptAAicrros 

O  DEITY  of  Epidauros,  now 
I  lift  no  prayer,  Asklepios,  to  thee ! 
Although  the  air  is  cool  upon  my  brow, 
And  evening  wafts  the  vernal  balm  to  me, 
And  life  is  sweet  in  its  serenity. 

I  would  not  live !     To  Thanatos  I  breathe 
The  sigh  that  rises  fainter  from  my  heart ; 

Around  my  pallid  brow  I  would  not  wreathe 
One  final  garland  for  the  poet's  art, 
For  I  am  tired  of  all,  with  all  would  part. 

The  leafy  murmurs  deepen  where  I  trod 
The  way  of  holy  shadow,  and  I  hear 

The  solemn  whisper  of  the  Chthonian  God, 
A  sound  of  infinite  soothing  to  my  ear. 
Above  all  earthly  voices  overdear. 

The  healing  fountain  in  the  Tholos  lifts 

Its  limpid  prayer  that  sinks  in  silver  spray ; 

Across  the  ripple  in  the  basin  drifts 
The  crimson  tremor  of  the  dying  day, 
The  valediction  of  its  parting  ray. 


37 


And  deeper  now  than  on  thy  lyre  of  leaves, 
Oaks  of  Dodona,  comes  to  me  the  sigh 

Of  that  consoleless  wind  that  grieves  and  grieves 
With  voice  subdued  for  one  about  to  die, 
The  sole  caress  that  soothes  me  where  I  lie. 

I  hear  it  as  I  heard  it  when  a  child, 

And  still  the  brooding  awe  comes  back  to  me, 

But  only  yields  an  exaltation  mild, 
A  ghost  of  transient  ardor  that  I  see 
Pass  in  the  pallid  light  of  memory. 

The  olive  orchards  in  the  distance  grow 
A  slope  of  velvet  to  my  weary  sight ; 

I  just  discern  the  shadowed  path  and  know 
The  carven  Nike  is  the  glimmer  white, 
And  feel  no  last  despair  for  art's  delight. 

The  golden  temple  Polykleitos  reared, 

With  marble  grace  entrances  me  no  more, 

And  all  its  votive  beauty  I  revered 

Has  lost  the  lure  that  drew  me  to  adore, 
Where  others  but  the  boon  of  health  implore. 

Its  curve  of  Doric  columns  that  I  love 
Becomes  a  shining  blur  upon  my  eyes, 

And  just  beyond  their  shimmer  is  a  dove 
That  in  unceasing  circles  flies  and  flies, 
Chaonia's  bird  that  wakes  no  least  surmise. 


38 


The  sun's  receding  beam  forsakes  the  crest, 
The  lurking  shadow  deepens  in  the  room ; 

I  breathe  the  fragrance  with  a  keener  zest, 
And  see  with  brighter  vision  in  the  gloom, 
The  last  refulgence  ere  the  hour  of  doom. 

O  fair  Dione,  on  thy  myrrhine  base, 
White  figurine  I  worshipped  long  ago, 

Why  should  I  turn  to  thee  with  haggard  face 
When  youth  alone,  with  all  its  ardent  glow, 
The  joy  of  thy  beneficence  may  know  ? 

O  thou,  with  flush  of  roses  at  thy  feet, 
The  last  red  garland  on  thy  altar  laid, 

No  more  in  quest  of  beauty  shall  I  meet 
The  vision  of  perfection  that  I  prayed, 
Thy  marble  contour  in  no  mortal  maid. 

And  yet  I  turn  to  thee,  for  thou  art  still 
The  one  Olympian  to  me  benign, 

But  I  shall  never  feel  the  plastic  thrill. 
Nor  gloat  again  upon  each  lovely  line 
My  eyes  discern  from  knee  to  shoulder  shine. 

And  have  I  worshipped.  Goddess,  but  in  vain, 
I  who  was  ever  captive  to  thy  thrall  ? 

Thy  gift  was  pleasure  but  I  found  it  pain, 
Pain  in  the  end,  and  of  thy  raptures  all 
Not  one  supreme  caress  would  I  recall. 


39 


How  futile  is  devotion  to  thee  now, 
And  yet  I  half  surrender  to  thy  smile, 

So  potent  is  the  memory  of  how 
Its  unresisted  ardor  could  beguile, 
A  thought  that  makes  the  shadow  lift  the  while. 

But  nevermore,  O  Goddess,  shall  I  steep 
My  senses  in  the  memories  that  throng ; 

I  have  no  single  joy  for  Time  to  keep, 
No  sorrow  for  the  years  that  art  or  song 
With  their  immortal  echo  might  prolong. 

I  ask  no  consolation  at  the  end, 

No  solace  from  the  faiths  that  I  disdain  ; 

I  have  no  prayer  of  any  kind  to  send 
To  any  God  for  any  loss  or  gain, 
For  any  prayer  would  be  an  effort  vain. 

The  summons  comes  to  my  assenting  soul ; 
I  feel  the  icy  rigor  slowly  creep 

Through  arm  and  limb  and  reach  the  final  goal, 
My  heart  whose  last  pulsations  faintly  keep 
A  fitful  struggle  with  unwaking  sleep. 

All  things  grow  dark  around  me.  none  are  near, 
No  grieving  few,  no  mother,  child,  or  wife ; 

And  it  is  well,  I  would  not  have  them  here, 
Not  one  of  all  I  knew  and  loved  in  life  — 
x\lone  I  choose  to  pass  from  mortal  strife. 


40 


PRAYER 

O  HERMES,  guide  of  spirits,  lead  me  now, 
And  Persiphrassa,  empress  of  the  dead ! 
The  breath  of  life  is  gone,  and  I,  a  shade, 
May  now  descend  the  unreturning  way ; 
The  slope  is  gentle  to  the  land  of  rest. 
The  air  is  sweet,  and  every  shadow  kind ; 
I  see  the  river  and  the  ebon  bark, 
The  ghostly  shore,  the  fields  of  asphodel  — 
Farewell,  O  earth,  farewell  forevermore ! 


41 


HERE    ENDS  THRENODIES   WRITTEN    BY 

JOHN     MYERS     O'HARA     AND      PRINTED 

BY   SMITH  AND  SALE  PORTLAND  MAINE 

IN    THE    MONTH    OF    MARCH 

MDCCCCXVIII 


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